Chapter 39: The World Has Completely Changed
This novel is translated and hosted on Bcatranslation
The room was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop, yet Qin Ming heard a faint whisper in this eerie stillness as if someone were standing right next to him.
Grabbing his long-handled black hammer, his body tensed like a coiled leopard. It wasn’t his imagination—he had even seen a shadow, blurry but real, just a moment ago.
The night outside the window was deep and dark, and the Sunstone in the room was slowly dimming. Then, it flickered and went out completely in an instant, plunging everything into a pitch-black silence.
At least the whispers had stopped, Qin Ming thought, relieved.
After a moment of stillness, he reached out to touch the worn, leather-bound blade manual on the table. The pages were ragged, some of them curling at the edges, but nothing happened this time. The room remained quiet, the air still.
He picked up the manual, but the room was so dark now that he couldn’t make out the words on the pages. Nothing strange was happening anymore—had it all been in his head?
Shaking his head, Qin Ming left the house and hurried to the village spring. There, he gathered a few glowing stones and quickly returned. With one hand gripping his hammer and the other flipping through the old blade manual, he waited. Still, no more whispers came.
“Did I imagine it?” he muttered to himself, half-convinced.
Not willing to dwell on it any longer, Qin Ming turned his attention back to the ancient text. The worn pages held the wisdom of warriors before him, their knowledge passed down for generations. He immersed himself in the study of blade techniques, careful not to let his mind wander.
But just as he began to relax, Qin Ming felt his hair stand on end. It was a feeling like being watched. The whispers returned, clearer this time, and worse, there was a long, mournful sigh—echoing right next to his ear.
A chill crept over the room, and Qin Ming’s eyes widened as an old man appeared before him. His clothes were tattered and stained with blood, his white hair hanging in messy strands. He stood there, swaying in the darkness like a ghost.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees, and even the glowing stones began to dim as if they were being swallowed by the gloom.
Without hesitating, Qin Ming swung his hammer straight at the apparition. The old man vanished along with the sigh, his bloody rags disappearing into thin air.
“What… was that?” Qin Ming’s heart pounded in his chest. Something was definitely wrong with this world. His face grew serious—he had only been reading an old blade manual, yet things had become so strange.
He gripped his black hammer’s handle tighter, eyes scanning the room carefully. Everything seemed back to normal—the stones were glowing, the temperature was fine, and the eerie presence was gone.
“Is this… some kind of cursed manual?” Qin Ming wondered aloud, eyeing the blade manual suspiciously. It was bound in beast leather, obviously ancient, and every page was worn down from use.
“Or maybe… it’s that liquid I absorbed?” Qin Ming frowned. Could it have affected his mind, making him see and hear things that weren’t real?
After thinking for a moment, he clenched his jaw and decided to wait. He wasn’t going to act rashly. If something strange was happening, he would face it head-on.
Qin Ming resumed his studies with a hammer in one hand and a manual in the other. The only sound in the room was the soft rustling of the old leather pages as he flipped through them. For a while, nothing happened—no whispers, no ghosts—until Qin Ming became completely absorbed in the blade techniques.
And then, it happened again.
The whispers returned, and when Qin Ming looked up, a figure stood before him. The same old man, his hair wild and his clothes stained with blood, stood a few steps away, watching him.
“Time is running out,” the old man muttered, his voice thick with regret. “Keep this manual safe… Ah, what a shame. I couldn’t record everything. Some of my techniques will be lost forever. What a waste of half a lifetime.”
Qin Ming watched in stunned silence as the old man sat down at a table and began writing. With every stroke of his brush, flashes of blade techniques filled the air, cutting through the darkness like streaks of lightning.
Each time the old man finished a move, a scene would appear—glimpses of him practicing his craft, his emotions, and his deep understanding of the blade. Qin Ming realized the importance of what was happening. The liquid he had absorbed had altered his perception, allowing him to see things no one else could. The world had changed completely for him.
When Qin Ming focused intently on the manual, he found himself sharing the old man’s thoughts and emotions, understanding the blade techniques on a level far beyond what was written on the pages.
“I’ve always been quick to pick things up,” Qin Ming thought. “Even in the mountains, I never found these techniques hard to learn. I grasped the basics pretty quickly.”
But now, this wasn’t about comprehension—it was about experiencing the creation of the blade techniques firsthand. He was witnessing the birth of the manual itself, understanding the essence of the blade style as the old man had lived it.
“This manual contains the life’s work of an old master,” Qin Ming murmured, feeling a strange sense of connection. “I’m reliving his memories…”
Suddenly, the scene dissolved, and Qin Ming snapped back to reality. The old man, the blade techniques, and the flashes of light all faded away. But the knowledge had been left behind.
Qin Ming dropped the black hammer and sat down by the glowing stones, completely engrossed in the ancient manual. His mind was entirely focused on the task at hand.
The more he focused, the more vivid the visions became. He could hear the old man’s thoughts, feel his emotions, and even witness his struggles.
In one vision, the old man stood under the night sky, lost in thought about his blade techniques. He raised his blade, slicing through the darkness with a flash of brilliance.
The scene shifted, and now the sky was lit up by lightning and thunder, rain pouring down in torrents. Holding a wooden blade, the old man made a single strike that seemed to cut through the storm itself, splitting the sky open.
Qin Ming trembled with excitement. This move wasn’t in the manual. It was a technique that couldn’t be written down—a strike born from the soul, the kind of technique that only comes from a moment of pure enlightenment.
“That’s why the old man was so sad,” Qin Ming realized. “He knew that some of his greatest techniques could never be passed on…”
But now, Qin Ming had witnessed them. He understood them. He had grasped the essence of the old man’s life’s work.
As more visions appeared, Qin Ming saw the old man training deep in the mountains, battling fierce beasts. He saw the master fighting powerful enemies in the middle of a snowstorm, losing an arm, and retreating into hiding, where he buried his broken blade.
Years later, the old man emerged, now aged and scarred. He dug up the broken blade, and when he swung it again, the blade light was even more powerful than before. It was as if nothing could stop it, not even mountains or oceans.
The older he got, the stronger his determination became. The old man wasn’t following the path of returning to simplicity and nature. Instead, his journey was one of relentless ambition, pushing ever upward. It was as though the terrifying light of his blade would burn away his withered body, unable to bear the weight of his power any longer.
After venturing out again, the old man wielded his broken blade to defeat all who stood in his way. In the end, he returned to the place where he had spent five years in meditation. He buried his blade, left behind his writings, and prepared to face the final moments of his life.
“It’s a pity,” the old man wrote, his movements quick as if racing against time. “I’m trapped in this remote place without access to the methods that could enhance my essence. Though my understanding of the blade is profound, and I trust my insight rivals anyone else’s, my body holds me back. Without access to higher-level texts, this is as far as I can go.”
With every stroke of the brush, flashes of blade light illuminated the pages, but when the writing touched upon higher-level techniques—those that could touch the heavens—the scenes grew fuzzy. The later pages were completely indecipherable.
Qin Ming understood why. He hadn’t yet reached that level of mastery; he hadn’t unlocked the “celestial light” within himself. His emotions and spirit weren’t in harmony with the manual’s deeper meanings. For now, that knowledge remained beyond his reach.
He closed the blade manual and shut his eyes. Everything he had seen, heard, and experienced swirled in his mind—the old man’s emotions, insights, and the new understanding of the blade technique. It all felt as if he had lived through it himself.
Taking his long-handled black hammer, Qin Ming walked into the courtyard. He began practicing a blade technique that wasn’t even recorded in the manual. For a moment, it seemed as though lightning flashed across the night sky.
The hammer moved through the air in his hands, its black sheen glinting in the darkness. He swung it faster and faster, leaving a terrifying trail in the night as it cut through the air, creating a web of deadly light.
He paused, standing still, his heart pounding in amazement. He had recreated those moves—the very ones the old man had perfected over a lifetime.
Qin Ming felt a surge of confidence. If he had access to the complete manual and enough time, he was certain he could master everything it held. But now, with the spiritual connection he had felt, he had grasped techniques far beyond the scope of the written text in just one night, as though he had trained for decades.
Taking a deep breath, Qin Ming calmed himself. While he had absorbed a wealth of techniques, experiences, and knowledge, improving the essence of his own life would still require training. Yet, this was already incredible.
He wondered what kind of liquid had been in that stone, the one that allowed his spirit to resonate with the mysterious emotions contained within the manual.
“The liquid from those ‘scraps’ must be as valuable as the legendary treasures born from the fusion of the ten colored lights and the rainbow mist,” Qin Ming mused. “If people knew about this, it would cause a storm.”
He even suspected that the origins of those ‘scraps’ might be far greater than anyone realized.
Qin Ming’s thoughts wandered back to that night when the fire devoured the entire village. He remembered the young man in feathered robes, who had seemed otherworldly, holding a violet bamboo staff. The boy’s aura was so refined, and Qin Ming was sure his strength was beyond imagining. The faction behind him was likely even more terrifying.
Now, Qin Ming felt a new sense of calm, an unshakable confidence. One day, he would march into Fallen Moon City and face the bloody past that haunted him.
At the same time, he thought of the two women who had appeared at the village gate. Their path seemed different from his, almost like they stood above those who walked the road of awakening.
Still, Qin Ming was convinced that his chosen path wasn’t any weaker. As long as he progressed quickly enough, he could break through whatever obstacles lay in his way.
With his mind now clear, he began to assess his own strength.
His arms were stronger than ever, able to lift over two thousand pounds, almost approaching twenty-two hundred pounds. And with the mastery of the blade techniques, even the ones not recorded in the manual, his combat abilities had grown… frighteningly powerful.
“Can I take on the old guys who’ve mastered the ‘celestial light’?” Qin Ming wondered.
He did some quick calculations. Even if those old men, on their first awakening, could carry six hundred pounds, after three awakenings, their strength would only reach around eighteen hundred pounds. That was still less than what he could manage.
This was why everyone placed so much importance on their first awakening, laying the foundation for future growth. Every awakening added to that initial strength.
Qin Ming knew the most dangerous aspect of those who had gone through three awakenings was their mastery of the ‘celestial light’ force. If one of them managed to close the distance and engage him up close, he wouldn’t stand a chance.
The ‘celestial light’ could tear through the scales of giant beasts, ripping them apart with frightening strength. This was why humans, despite their smaller size, could contend with such powerful creatures.
However, Qin Ming also knew that within the realm of awakening, the ‘celestial light’ force could only extend a short distance beyond the user’s body—it couldn’t yet infuse their weapons.
“That means,” Qin Ming said to himself, “as long as I keep my distance and don’t let one of those guys get close, I can still win.”
But he’d need the right weapon for that. A regular blade wouldn’t do—it would be torn apart by the ‘celestial light.’ His long-handled black hammer, though, would be perfect. With its sheer weight, he didn’t doubt he could smash his opponent to pieces.
“Guess this is another sleepless night,” Qin Ming muttered, sighing. His mind was still buzzing, and it wasn’t until the early hours of the morning that he finally managed to doze off for a few moments. At this rate, he figured he wouldn’t need sleep for the next few days.
In the second half of the night, Qin Ming focused on studying the blade techniques. He broke down the old man’s experiences, insights, and understanding, analyzing them piece by piece. He practiced them, adding his own flashes of inspiration and understanding to the mix.
The next day, Cao Long, Mu Qing, and Wei Zhi Rou told Qin Ming that they would be heading back soon if they didn’t make any major discoveries or breakthroughs in the coming days.
Before leaving, they handed Qin Ming and Old Liu a mid-level technique manual as payment and said they were free to share it with anyone in the village. After all, Cao Long and Mu Qing’s teams benefited greatly from their exploration of the Fire Bat Cave.
The people of Twin Trees Village were incredibly grateful. It was their first time encountering such an advanced method for awakening.
That night, Qin Ming studied the mid-level technique manual but quickly realized it didn’t compare to the method he had learned from the silk scroll. Moreover, this new manual was just a copy and lacked the emotional depth needed to create a spiritual connection.
“Looks like only the blood, sweat, and tears of past masters can truly resonate with my spirit,” Qin Ming reflected.
Later that evening, as Qin Ming brought the mid-level manual over to Old Liu, he asked, “Old man, you’re not planning to tell those three teams about all the places with spiritual resources around here, are you?”
“Don’t worry, kid,” Old Liu replied, patting his chest. “I know what I’m doing. Once I’ve healed up, and after you’ve gone through your second awakening, we’ll head into the mountains together. There’s plenty of good stuff that’ll get us to our third awakening, and I’m saving the best spots for us!”
Qin Ming nodded, then asked, “By the way, are there any ancient sects or factions in these parts? Ones that were once powerful but have since fallen into decline?”
“What’re you asking that for? What’re you planning?” Old Liu asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
“I was thinking I might… borrow some books from them,” Qin Ming said with a grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to give them an offer they can’t refuse—some of that night silver they’ll want.”